


On The Line

by almostafantasia



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin Handler Elena, F/F, Matchmaker Elena, Number One Villaneve Shipper Elena, and a version of Elena that is both more amoral and more bisexual than canon, assassin Villanelle, assassin eve, featuring two horny assassins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: After discovering that her two favourite clients are obsessed with each other’s crime scenes, Elena puts her job as a top secret assassin handler at risk by devising a highly irresponsible plot to set Villanelle and Eve up with each other.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 35
Kudos: 149





	On The Line

It’s not the worst job that Elena has ever had. That particular accolade is earned by the summer she spent waiting tables at Nando’s in Croydon after finishing her A-levels. But it is by far the hardest to explain to anybody who asks her what she does for a living. Elena usually spins some bullshit about being a consultant at a temping agency - that’s usually enough to bore the person who asked enough that they don’t probe any further.

Besides, Elena isn’t exactly lying. She’s just neglecting to mention that fact that the contracts she gives out are actually hits and the people she assigns them to are highly skilled assassins. She’s only omitting the _minor_ details.

But whatever, it’s easy to gloss over that because the job is actually great, if slightly amoral. The hours are pretty flexible, she gets to work from the comfort of her spare bedroom and _yes,_ she can afford a flat with a spare bedroom in London because this job pays her a mint.

Lounging back in her office chair, Elena is just contemplating popping into the kitchen for a glass of wine - another perk of working from home, especially on a late shift like this - when a call comes in through her computer, causing her to lunge for her headset.

“M.I. Consulting, Elena speaking. How can I help?”

“What the fuck, Elena?”

Elena relaxes in her chair again when she recognises the voice snapping at her through her headset.

“Good evening to you too, Eve.”

Eve. Elena’s favourite of the assassins that she works with. She’s never met Eve, of course. Doesn’t even know what she looks like. Or if her name is, in fact, Eve. But from their previous interactions, always through concealed earpieces or burner phones, Eve sounds quite sexy, if Elena is completely honest. A lilting American accent with husky undertones. Eve is funny without really intending to be, sarcastic and a little self-deprecating, with an amalgamated vocabulary of swear words from both sides of the Atlantic. Elena has perhaps got a little bit of a girl crush - as much as one can have a girl crush on somebody she has only ever heard the voice of. But more than that, Elena thinks that Eve just seems really fucking cool. The kind of person that she wants to invite out for bottomless brunch on the weekend and drink bellinis with until they don’t remember their own names.

That is, of course, ignoring the fact that Eve is a contract killer with a pile of god knows how many bodies rotting behind her. But Elena’s moral compass has been M.I.A. since she left her previous job in recruitment to become a top secret assassin handler.

“He’s already dead,” Eve tells Elena, her voice bristling with irritation. “I flew all the way to Istanbul, stole a maid’s outfit and a keycard, broke into the target’s hotel room, and he’s already dead.”

Morbid curiosity kicks in.

“How did he die?” Elena asks, chewing at her lower lip in anticipation of the answer.

“Death by BDSM, it looks like,” comes Eve’s reply. “I mean, his throat has been slashed. I can see his windpipe. But he’s spreadeagled on the bed. Gagged and tied to the bedposts.”

“At least he went out with a bang,” Elena jokes.

“He was supposed to be _my_ kill,” argues Eve. “And some other chick got here first.”

Eve is Elena’s only female contact. She knows there aren’t many women in this industry. 

Which is why she asks, “How do you know it was a girl?”

There’s a pause, then Eve replies, “I mean, the killer got into his room under the pretence of having kinky sex.”

“He could be gay,” Elena points out.

“There’s a pair of lace panties stuffed in his mouth.”

“That’s very close-minded of you, Eve,” teases Elena, fighting off a grin. “I’m sure it’s very liberating for a bloke to have a bit of expensive lace riding up his crack.”

Any sane person would probably say that it’s stupid and dangerous to joke around with a killer like this. But Elena is enjoying this far too much, considering the circumstances. She likes these calls. It’s just like Eve is one of her non-murderous friends, calling for a catch-up at the end of the day. And it humanises Eve to have normal conversations like this, eats away at Elena’s conscience a little less to know that the assassins she works with are just normal people trying to make a living.

“Thanks for that revolting image,” replies Eve, before she presses on by saying, “I just know this was a woman, okay? I can _feel_ it.”

Elena grins with glee and probingly asks, “Are you getting turned on by a crime scene?”

“Well, excuse me for appreciating the work of another professional in my field,” retorts Eve.

It’s not a no.

Elena really should have gone for the glass of wine before this call. And maybe a snack too - a bowl of peanuts or a bag of popcorn. She’s having far too much fun winding Eve up.

“It’s a dead body not a priceless work of art,” she points out with a snigger.

“Anybody can kill,” Eve says. “Even _you_ could grab a knife from your kitchen, walk out onto the streets of wherever it is that you live, and stab the first person you see. But this body _is_ art. She’s thought about it, manipulated him, used him, and then killed him. Only a true psychopath could do that.”

Elena, whose stomach is still churning slightly at Eve’s suggestion that _she_ could take a life, simply hums softly, unwilling to argue with Eve on this one. Besides, she is still amused that Eve’s reaction at finding a grotesque dead body is not horror, but awe at the way he was killed.

“Whatever you say, Eve. But at least tell me this - does the victim have a big knob?”

“I can’t say I noticed it, to be honest.”

“That’s a disappointing no, then,” Elena groans. “Right, why don’t you get yourself and that cute little maid outfit out of the hotel before somebody links you to a crime that, for once, you didn’t commit, and enjoy your one night in Istanbul? Get laid, or something? I can practically hear your sexual frustration sizzling through my headset.”

Eve lets out a soft chuckle, then mumbles, “Piss off.”

* * *

> _From:_ [ _carolyn@miconsulting.com_ _  
> _ ](mailto:carolyn@miconsulting.com) _To:_ [ _elena@miconsulting.com_ ](mailto:elena@miconsulting.com)
> 
> _Subject: *URGENT ASSET REALLOCATION - CALL ASAP*_ _  
> _ _____________________________________________
> 
> _Please call me at your earliest convenience._
> 
> _Regards,_ _  
> _ _Carolyn_

Elena almost vibrates off her chair in excitement when she logs onto her computer to find a new email from Carolyn waiting in her inbox.

Carolyn Martens. Elena has only ever met her twice but that was more than enough to confirm that Carolyn is by far the coolest woman to ever grace this planet. She’s basically Elena’s hero. The woman she aspires to be one day.

The time stamp on the email tells Elena that it was sent at two-thirty in the morning, which Elena merely glosses over because it’s incredibly on brand for Carolyn. Elena has often wondered if Carolyn might perhaps be part supernatural being and so far, every interaction, every call or email, has done nothing to dissuade Elena of those theories. 

It’s too early to be making calls, but always eager to impress Carolyn, Elena takes one final sip of her morning coffee to pump herself up, then dials her boss.

“Elena,” comes Carolyn’s brusque response, after only one ring. “You got my email?”

“Morning, Carolyn!” Elena says, in the chirpiest voice she can muster at so early an hour. “Thank you, yes I did!”

“Excellent. Then I’ll cut straight to it. I’ve got a contact that needs reallocating and I think you’re the woman for the job.”

Elena’s chest swells with pride. Carolyn picked _her!_

“Anything for you, Carolyn,” Elena preens, turning up the charm to the max.

“One of Hugo’s,” Carolyn continues. “A decision has been made that they can no longer work together. Officially we’re citing professional differences but between you and me, it’s a matter of his personal safety. She’s a difficult one, but _very_ good at her job. I trust you’ll be able to keep her in line.”

 _She._ Elena’s eyebrows shoot up as Carolyn drops the pronouns of Elena’s new contact. Another woman, doubling Elena’s count of female assassins. She briefly wonders how the new one will compare to Eve, who has been pretty incomparable up to this point, before Elena’s inner feminist shuts her down. There’s no point comparing the two. There is plenty of room for two female assassins in this industry to be equally brilliant in their own unique ways.

“Oh, absolutely,” Elena assures Carolyn. “You can count on me.”

“I’m rather hoping that she’ll respond better to a female handler.”

Having spoken to Hugo a handful of times herself, Elena can completely understand why female colleagues might not gel with him, and particularly with the thin layer of sleaziness that often veils his words.

“I’m honoured that you thought of me, Carolyn.”

* * *

> _From:_ [ _carolyn@miconsulting.com_ _  
> _ ](mailto:carolyn@miconsulting.com) _To:_ [ _elena@miconsulting.com_ ](mailto:elena@miconsulting.com)
> 
> _Subject: CONFIDENTIAL_ _  
> _ _____________________________________________
> 
> _As discussed._
> 
> _Regards,_ _  
> _ _Carolyn_

The second email from Carolyn comes through shortly after she hangs up the phone. Carolyn is as succinct as ever and Elena wastes no time in downloading the attachments and using a complex series of decryptions to unlock their contents.

Elena fiddles around with her phone while she waits for the file to open, liking a chubby photo of her infant nephew on Instagram before watching a baking video that appears on her feed with mild disinterest and absolutely no intention of attempting to recreate the treat in her own kitchen later.

It is a relief, albeit a surprising one that startles Elena so much that she almost drops her phone, when a call comes through her laptop from an unknown caller moments later.

“M.I. Consulting, Elena speaking. How can I help?”

“Is Elena your real name?” comes a voice, lyrical and as smooth as molten chocolate.

“I … sorry, who is this?”

There’s a brief pause, and then the voice says, “Carolyn told me she’d spoken to you already.”

“Oh!” says Elena, sitting upright in her chair as realisation dawns upon her. “It’s you! You’re my new contact! What should I call you?”

“My name?” 

There is a hint of amusement in the assassin’s lightly accented voice. Elena tries to pinpoint the accent, wondering if it is too stereotypical to assume that the assassin is Russian based purely off a few words spoken in an accent that could realistically be any flavour of Eastern European.

“And your name is…?” Elena prompts her. “Sorry, I’m still downloading your files. Just bear with me a sec.”

Elena stares at the dialogue box on her laptop screen, the loading bar at the bottom getting greener a single pixel at a time, and makes a silent prayer to the deity of modern technology that her broadband speed could miraculously quadruple.

“You can call me Villanelle,” the assassin says, as if she is doing Elena a huge favour by imparting something as basic as a name.

“Villanelle,” Elena repeats, grabbing the nearest pen and scribbling down the name on a post-it note. She pauses for a second, and then, with Villanelle’s opening line still fresh in her brain, dares to parrot back, “And is that _your_ real name?”

“Yes,” Villanelle answers without hesitation. “But I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t.”

Villanelle is easy to talk to. Rather like Eve, actually. Elena wonders if it’s a female thing - none of the male assassins she’s ever had to work with have ever been even remotely conversational. Those interactions are always straight to the point - she gives them an assignment and they confirm when it’s been completed, very little more than that. But Elena likes the conversations she has with Eve, and she can see herself enjoying future conversations she has with Villanelle too.

“Can I ask you something, Elena?” 

Villanelle says Elena’s name like they are old friends and she has said it a thousand times before, and Elena feels herself being charmed even more by the new assassin, even down the phone.

“Go on,” she prompts Villanelle.

“Are you going to flirt with me?”

Elena pauses before she answers. Though Elena certainly isn’t averse to a little bit of flirty banter with some of her female friends - heck, Elena has probably even flirted with _Eve_ once or twice - she can’t say that flirting with Villanelle is something that had crossed her mind yet.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she tells Villanelle, hoping that she hasn’t somehow offended Villanelle by admitting that. “Is that … is that the answer you were hoping for?”

Instead of answering directly, Villanelle replies by saying, “Hugo used to flirt with me.”

Elena rolls her eyes and shakes her head, entirely unsurprised by that, and says, “No offence, but Hugo would flirt with anything that had a pulse.”

“Yes, I got that impression,” Villanelle agrees. “Anyway, he took it a step too far so I threatened to find where he lives and chop off his balls while he sleeps and the next thing I knew, Carolyn was calling me to tell me that I would no longer be working with Hugo.”

Though Villanelle cannot see her, Elena nods resolutely, before she says, “No flirting. Got it.”

“I think that’s best.” Villanelle pauses for thought, and then continues, in a voice that is slightly more playful in tone, “Though I’d be more receptive to your flirting than I was to Hugo’s, if you know what I mean?”

Pen still poised in her hand, Elena considers Villanelle’s words, before she writes _‘GAY?’_ on the post-it below Villanelle’s name.

“I think I do know what you mean.”

An alert sounds from the laptop, letting Elena know that the files have finished decrypting during her conversation with Villanelle. She clicks to open the folder, unsurprised by the lack of personal information about Villanelle, not a picture or a date of birth nor anything else that would make Villanelle identifiable to Elena if they happened to pass each other on the street. It’s the way it’s always been, the way it’s supposed to be, but the same intrigue that brought Elena into this line of work in the first place is the same as the curiosity that leads her to want to know more about these assassins that she works with, to want to know more about their psyche and why they do what they do.

The one piece of information that Elena is allowed access to is Villanelle’s work. An entire repertoire of kills, untraceable to the woman responsible except that they all display the same creativity and flair, the same sense of showmanship. A man drowned in a sink in a public bathroom, his body found in a single stall that was locked from the inside. A woman hung by the neck from a chandelier in an embassy in France, her own bra fashioned into the noose. A man dead in a hotel room, his throat slit and blood spattered across his…

Wait. There is something familiar about this one, though Elena can’t quite place where she might have seen it before.

And then she realises that she hasn’t seen it before, but has heard it described to her, the position of the body, naked and bound to the bed, recounted to Elena in vivid detail by none other than Eve not even two weeks ago.

Seeing images of the body, Elena gets it. She understands now why Eve was as fascinated by the scene as she was irritated that somebody else had got there first.

 _See how close I got,_ the picture taunts Elena. _Look how much he trusted his killer before he died._

“Hang on,” Elena says, finally speaking up again. _“You_ were responsible for the Istanbul hotel room killing?”

There’s almost a hint of pride in Villanelle’s voice as she asks, “You know about that?”

“I heard about it,” Elena replies elusively, knowing that to tell Villanelle her source would be to compromise Eve’s safety. “Did you … you know, actually _sleep_ with him before you killed him?”

“I try to avoid sleeping with men unless absolutely necessary.”

Elena picks up the pen again, furiously scribbles out the question mark, then underlines the word _‘GAY’_ for good measure.

“A wise plan,” Elena hums in agreement.

Elena wonders briefly if there is a link between a woman’s sexuality and the qualities needed to work in an industry like this. Eve has, after all, on more than one occasion, made comments that have led Elena to suspect that she may be interested in both men and women. And Elena, while she has spent most of her adult life jumping from one long-term boyfriend to the next, has a pretty relaxed attitude to her own sexuality. She has dabbled with women in the past, who is to say that she won’t do it again now that she’s single once more?

Perhaps there is something in the psychology of queer women, something that has developed from a lifetime of rejecting societal norms, that makes them the perfect employees for a top-secret international assassin agency.

Elena squints at the images on her screen, flicking through photos of crime scene after crime scene, and she does have to admit that Eve was spot on in her assessment of what happened in Istanbul. The crime scenes are works of art, though an unconventional medium that wouldn’t be found in any gallery, and Elena understands why Eve seemed to almost be turned on by what she saw. Hell, even Elena is starting to get a little bit excited at the prospect of working with somebody as skilled as Villanelle.

“Well,” says Elena, as she continues to scroll through the pictures on her laptop screen, “unless there’s anything else…”

“I don’t think so,” comes Villanelle’s reply. “It has been nice to speak to you, Elena.”

“Likewise. I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got a job for you.”

* * *

“M.I. Consulting, Elena speak-”

“He’s dead.” A pause, and then, “This is Villanelle, by the way.”

Elena smirks.

“Hey, Villanelle,” Elena replies, though she recognised the smooth voice and distinctive accent straight away. “Any problems?”

“No. It was easy. Messy, but easy. I hit him in the back of the head with an axe. Brains everywhere.”

“I thought you were going to kill him while he stayed late in the office?” Elena asks, frowning as she leans back in her chair.

“I did,” Villanelle answers, before she elaborates, “I brought my own axe. Maybe you heard about the guy who got murdered with an axe in a forest in Croatia last month?”

Elena does know it, because she was the one who gave that particular assignment to Eve. 

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that one,” Elena answers vaguely, knowing that she can’t give anything away about either her own or Eve’s involvement.

“Well, I wanted to pay homage to the woman who killed that man.”

“Wait.” Elena frowns as she asks, “How do you know it was a woman?”

Elena gets déjà vu, and recalls asking Eve the same question when she commented on the dead body in the hotel room in Istanbul, an assassination that she now knows was carried out by Villanelle.

“I can just tell,” comes Villanelle’s reply. “Men kill with guns and knives. It’s so obvious to me when a woman is responsible. Think of it as my party trick. A kind of sixth sense”

Elena’s own party trick involves being able to drink from a wine glass without the use of her hands, but she supposes that everybody has their own unique skill.

She is definitely intrigued by Villanelle’s interest in Eve’s kill, intrigued by the fact that Villanelle has mimicked that kill as a form of flattery. 

Elena is particularly intrigued with the knowledge that the interest is reciprocated. 

“Anyway, he’s definitely dead,” says Villanelle, her voice cutting through Elena’s thoughts. “That’s all you need from me, right?”

“Yup.”

“Good. Because I need to shower that man’s brains off me and then I’m going to go out and find a woman to fuck. I always get turned on after I kill.”

“Oh, I…” Elena is caught off guard by how startlingly direct Villanelle is. “Uh, that sounds like a good idea. Yeah, you deserve to go and have some fun.”

Elena hears Villanelle laugh softly, before she replies in a voice that is just a little bit too much on the suggestive side, “I’m sure I will.”

For some reason, Elena thinks of Eve, who Elena is almost positive was a little bit turned on by the manner in which she found the dead body in Istanbul a few weeks ago, as she casually asks, “So, you don’t have a girlfriend, then?”

“Elena,” purrs Villanelle. “What did I tell you about flirting?”

“I’m not flirting!” Elena protests. “Just … being friendly. Getting to know you. I’m single, by the way.” Elena hears her own words back after she says them and realises how they might come across, and quickly corrects herself by adding, “Again, not flirting, just trying to make this conversation a two-way thing.”

There is a pause, one long enough that Elena wonders if she has lost contact with Villanelle, before Villanelle finally speaks.

“No girlfriend. I don’t do relationships. I like sex, though. I like to fuck women. Make them moan. But I don’t have the patience for all the other stuff that comes with having a girlfriend.”

Elena feels her cheeks start to heat up at Villanelle’s bluntness, and she has absolutely no doubt that Villanelle has the skills to back up her chat. 

Even just thinking about it has Elena wondering if maybe she should go out once she’s finished working and find somebody to take the edge off.

It really has been a while…

“If that’s everything-”

“Yep, of course. You go and do your thing. Good job, Villanelle, you know, with the axe.”

Elena hears Villanelle laugh, then say, “Thank you, Elena. You know, you really are so much more pleasant to work with than Hugo.”

Knowing Hugo, Elena isn’t sure how much of a compliment that actually is. 

* * *

Elena goes to sleep that night speculating about an alternate universe in which Eve and Villanelle are allowed to meet each other, where they can show their appreciation of the other’s handiwork to each other in person.

Of course, that can never happen in _this_ universe.

Can it?

**Author's Note:**

> part two coming soon


End file.
